It took what felt like half an hour of restless pacing until I felt the tension in my body begin to release, and it was another little while of internal debate until I could force myself to search around for Braig. It didn't take long for me to find him in one of the many off shoot tunnels of the mine.

I had met Braig only briefly during my stay here, stumbling along him while I was doing a little exploration of the mines. He had been curt and uninviting, so I had left him to his devices and not seen him again until now.

The old Breton started as I followed the curve of the tunnel, his perpetual glower deepening as he realized my approach had caught him off guard. He sat on the floor, hand on the pickaxe beside him.

"What do you want?" he grunted. "I have digging to do."

"Yes, I can see how productive you're being," I said, sitting myself down in front of him. He looked annoyed as I made myself comfortable, and I made it a point to take my sweet time before finally explaining my presence. "Madanach told me to hear your story."

Braig stared at me, expression unchanging, but clearly unhappy. For a second I thought he was going to turn me away when he took his hand off the pickaxe's handle and began to speak.

"My story, huh?" he said. "Everyone in Cidhna Mine as a tale. I'm more interested in yours."

I shifted uncomfortably, and he saw the change in my expression.

"Not such a nice question when it's turned around, is it?" he asked. "Well, nothing is free in the world, and that rule applies even more now that you're down here. If you want to hear my story, you're going to have to exchange yours for it."

I bit my lip hesitantly. I guess I was silent for a bit too long because Braig decided to prompt a monologue from me.

"When was the first time you felt chains around your wrists?" he coaxed, and I sighed. As much as I would like to bypass discussing my past, it seemed unavoidable. Besides, I'm sure since Madanach directed me to Braig, his past wasn't that pretty either.

"Young," I conceded, seeing no point in lying now. "My sticky fingers have always gotten me into trouble."

"Then you know the hard looks as judgment sets upon you. The sneers of people who never had to face sentence."

I sighed again, remembering those looks indeed and the feeling of shame that accompanied them. But I also remembered the feeling of joining the Guild, and the way people's sneers melted into downcast eyes and quickened footsteps.

And I remembered how the fear was beginning to revert back into disdain. The Guild was in trouble and here I was, locked up for crimes I actually didn't commit for once. The helplessness was the worst part of it.

"Not fond memories, I know," Braig said with what almost sounded like sympathy. "But the hard stories are the ones worth hearing. What about family? Any fond memories there? Anyone waiting for you on the outside?"

"This is starting to feel a bit like an interrogation," I muttered.

"You're being exasperatingly concise so I'm just helping things along."

"Yeah, yeah. I just don't make it a habit of telling people my life story."

"So… family?"

"No blood relations in Skyrim," I said. "But… yes, family," I added after a little thought. "They're the only family I need and… I hope they're still waiting for me outside."

"You do not seem the kind to be caught up in these machinations."

"Yeah, well, I suppose you can blame my current situation on the mead."

"Oh?"

"Nope. I'm not discussing my drinking problems."

"Fine, I won't pry. This would be a lot easier if you would just talk," he said somberly. "Okay. Mead got you into this situation, but what about your past situation?"

"My past situation? What do you mean?" I asked guardedly.

"You're a nice girl," he said. "You got a spring in your step even down here, and a face as readable as a picture book, although you probably believe otherwise. You have an aura of… innocence, you could say. The life of a thief doesn't suit you."

"I'm not as young as I look to you," I warned. "We Mer are known to live a fair bit longer than your kind, and the life of a thief suits me just fine, thank you very much."

"I know," he said, picking at the dirt under his nails in thought for a moment. He could sense he had insulted me a little bit and decided to lead our conversation on a detour. "Do you have any idea why Madanach sent you to me?"

Because he's a cowardly milk drinker, a little voice in my head wanted to say.

"Because he… thinks I might gain some insight towards the Forsworn cause?"

"Well, yes, but do you know why he sent you to me specifically?"

I shrugged, shaking my head. For the moment, I was just glad we weren't talking about my life.

"It's because Madanach is good at reading people," he said. "Every Forsworn member in this mine has some sort of sob story, myself included. He thinks, though, that you will benefit most from hearing mine."

"And why would he think that?"

It was his turn to shrug. "I had a daughter once," he said, and I had to stop myself from groaning. In our brief conversation could Madanach really have known how much of a sucker I am for these kind of people? I mean, all he really had to go off of was Eltrys, but that implied not only a deep knowledge of Eltrys's personal life, but knowledge that Eltrys had used that information and I had fallen for it. I didn't know what disturbed me more.

Am I really that easy to read?

"She would be 23 this year," Braig continued. "Maybe she'd be married to some hot-headed silver worker or maybe she'd be on her own learning the herb trade."

He trailed off in a memory and I shifted, removing a sharp rock from under my thigh.

"I'll spare you the sappy details," Braig said. "Madanach may have you pegged in whatever way - and mind you, he's probably right about it - but I will not have my past used by him in such a manner. I hate the Nords as much as anyone, but I will not let him blatantly use me to drag you down a path you clearly don't belong."

I nodded, and watched as he clenched his fists, eyes staring straight past me as he remembered events long past that had been seared permanently into his brain. When he spoke, he tried to maintain a monotone as if that would distance him from the events playing in his mind for probably the millionth time, but his voice quivered ever so slightly with barely concealed rage.

"The Nords didn't care who was and who wasn't involved in the Forsworn Uprising. I had spoken to Madanach once, and that was enough. But little Aethra didn't want to see her papa leave her. She pleaded with the Jarl to take her instead.

"And so, of course, they did. And after they made me watch as her head rolled off the block, they threw me in here anyways, to dig up their silver."

Despite his efforts, his voice broke and his volume rose with his increasing rage. Empathy overwhelmed me, but I had to ask something.

"A man in Markarth, Eltrys, was killed when I was arrested," I said.

"I know of him."

"All he wanted was to get to the bottom of his father's death," I said. "He had a pregnant wife. Does what happened really justify the murders of good people that the Forsworn have committed?"

"I'm not Madanach," Braig snapped, and I flinched at the sharpness of his tone. "I was never a Forsworn leader. The only thing I can justify if my own anger." He seemed to realize he had lost some of his composure and took a few moments to calm himself.

"I'm sorry," I said, a bitter taste in my mouth.

"For what? You were not the one who killed my Aethra."

"It just seemed like the right thing to say."

"My daughter is the one who needs your pity. I'm just a poor Forsworn whose only regret is not killing more Nords before I was locked up. Save your apologies for something you've actually done," he said. "What you have to understand is that my story is not special. Every family in the Reach has a story like mine. There are no innocent onlookers in this struggle. Just the guilty and the dead."

I had nothing to say. More and more I was finding myself with the unfamiliar feeling of speechlessness.

"You should return to Madanach," Braig said after a while. "I am familiar with this routine of his, and he will want to see you again."

"Why do you follow him?" I blurted out.

He took a moment to think.

"I know I have not sounded very fond of him in our discussion, but my respect for Madanach runs deeper than any lake in Skyrim, and higher than any mountain. The years have turned him more ruthless, but he is a good man, sick and tired of seeing his people suffer. I realize it's easier said than done, but please don't hold anything that has happened against him. He means only the best."

"Easier said than done, indeed," I replied, as I stood up, brushing some of the dirt off my legs. "But I'll try."

"Be safe."

"No guarantees," I said with a half smile.

I turned my back on yet another good man, my mood souring at the prospect of having to face the King in Rags again. Despite my promise to Braig, I was going to give that wretched Breton a piece of my mind, and I guess it showed on my face because Borkul hesitated just the slightest moment before opening the cell door for me again.

Madanach turned to me as I stormed in, mouth open to greet me, but I cut him off.

"No, shut up" I said, pointing a finger as threateningly as possible, which, admittedly, wasn't very threatening. I ignored the flare of pain from my burn. "Who do you think I am?"

"…Do you want me to shut up or answer that?"

"I want you to shut up with your bullshit psychoanalyzing mind-games and answer that."

His blue-grey eyes narrowed, his lips pressing together in a scornful line, unaccustomed to being addressed in such a manner. He didn't answer me, so I continued talking.

"Do you take me seriously?" I asked with an icy tone. "Borkul the Beast definitely doesn't take me seriously. He laughs in my face. The other prisoners don't take me very seriously either. So far, Braig is the only one to show me any respect."

He still remained silent. The only look on his face was that of intrigue, and that only pissed me off even more.

"Is it because I'm an elf?" I asked, using arm gestures now. "Is it because I'm young? Is it because I'm a woman? Do I look weak to you?"

I stared at him, and he stared back, calm as ever. I hated that every second seemed to be a mental battle with him, and one that I would never win. I hated how he remained so damn composed while I was losing my shit the moment I seemed to regain it. I was a single, unaccounted for piece on the playing field that belonged to neither side, and Madanach was trying to reel me in. The Forsworn needed every bit of help they could get.

It dawned on me quite suddenly, and I took a sharp inhale, wondering how I hadn't seen it before.

"You have an escape plan," I said matter of factly.

A sly grin spread across his thin lips.

"I do," he confirmed. "And if you can prove your loyalty to me, I'm willing to let you in on it…"